“Where are we going?” I asked Irrik. My head was fuzzy with fatigue, and it took me longer than it should’ve to notice we were taking a different direction through the castle than we had for weeks. He wasn’t leading me to my new room. My eyes widened. He was—

“Where are you taking me?” I blurted.

“The dungeon,” he said in a cool voice.

“What? Why?” I shrilled, desperately. I remembered the darkness and Jotun’s thudding footsteps as he’d come to collect me for more torture. Nearing the edge of hysteria, I tried to reason with Irrik. “I haven’t been there for weeks.”

Irrik gripped my arm lightly, probably sensing I was about to bolt. “Because, Phaetyn, you must learn that what is given can be taken away just as easily. Today, you spoke to your friend. Do you know what Jotun or the king would’ve done to him for that? What I’m still contemplating doing? You would be punished, too.”

I shut my mouth at his threat against Arnik.

As we wound down the stairs that haunted my dreams, my thoughts went from Jotun to the other occupants of the prison. I’d be able to talk to Ty. My heart leaped at the thought that Tyr might come to see me as well. The Drae glanced at me with one eyebrow raised, and I wiped my smile away. His previous warnings about showing affection for Tyr rang in my ears.

He swung open my cell door.

Home, sweet home. “It seems bigger than I remember,” I said cheerfully.

Lord Irrik rolled his eyes and jerked the door shut, twisting the key in the lock. “Sleep tight.”

“Don’t let the Drae bite,” I finished in a singsong voice.

He paused. “What did you just say?”

I blanched. What did I just say? I did not quote a nursery rhyme at him. Mistress Moons, please tell me that didn’t happen. “Nothing.”

The dim light gleamed on his now bared white fangs. “You better hope I don’t bite you, Phaetyn.”

I held my breath, adrenaline raising my skin in small bumps. His teeth disappeared, and I strained my ears to hear the door down the hall slam a moment later. Phew.

“Is that you, Ryn?”

Hearing his raspy voice, I grinned. “Ty!”

“Long time, no talk. How’ve you been?”

I groaned and sank down against our wall. “Oh, just fabulous,” I said, sarcastically. “They put me in a nicer room.”

“You sound upset about it. It’s worse than here?”

Wincing, I said, “Not really. I just missed you is all.” And Tyr.

The familiar drip marked the moments before he responded, “I was teasing, Ryn. Maybe someday they’ll take me to a better room. Although, nothing could beat this cell for acoustics or morbid ambience. In fact, I’m fairly certain no female could resist it,” he rasped.

I laughed. “What about Jotun?”

“He was my first victim.”

He trailed off, and I sat in my dungeon cell, unreasonably happy to be there talking to a friend. “I’ve missed you, Ty.”

“Ditto. I can just see you out there singing to the plants and playing in the dirt. Mud lady.”

I did not want that to catch on. “I’m not a mud lady.”

“Do you wear shoes out in the fields?”

I scrunched my nose. “Well, no.”

“Mud lady,” he reaffirmed. “Admit it. You love the soil and the life it gives. You love helping the plants grow. You like squishing your toes in the dirt.”

A hum left my lips. I supposed I was a mud lady. “Hey, Ty? What’s a Druman?”

Ty coughed then asked, “Why?”

“The king mentioned them today. Said Jotun and his Druman didn’t need to watch me in the fields anymore. I’ve never heard the term. You’re the most knowledgeable person here with that stuff.”

He snorted. “Thanks. As it happens, I do know,” he said in his hoarse timbre. “A Druman is half Drae and half human. All are male, all are infertile, and all are ten times stronger than a human. Jotun is Druman—as are most of the king’s personal guards. They’re the ones dressed in the navy aketons, not the green.”

I stared into the shadows of my cell, mouth ajar as I processed this. “Half Drae? But how? There’s only one Drae.”

Ty made no answer, and my face warmed.

“Oh,” I said hastily. “Is that Lord Irrik’s choice?” Not that I should care, but for some reason the idea of him intentionally doing that . . .

Ty sighed. “As much as I dislike the scaly bastard, it was the king’s doing. At least that’s what I was told. Irdelron uses that oath like a collar to control the Drae, slowly tightening it year after year.”

I blinked several times as a well of sympathy for Irrik surged inside. Or maybe it should be empathy. He was the last Drae, and I was the last Phaetyn. Who could guess what my fate would be once the fields were healed. I shuddered at the thought. I’d die before swearing an oath to the king that he could use to control me in that way. “How many of them are there?”

“Here in Verald? Hundreds. But the Emperor of Draecon has hundreds, too, if rumor is to be believed.”

I whistled low. “That’s a lot of children.”

“Irrik’s been around for a long time, and Emperor Draedyn even longer. Druman are long-lived, too. I believe Lord Irrik hates the sight of them. I’m sure you’ve seen it. Because of the oath, the Druman answer to the king, not Irrik. The king trains the Druman to be beasts without compassion. They only speak violence. That’s why the king has their throats burned with acid, as a reminder that brutality is their only language. Most turn out like Jotun.”

My attention caught on Ty’s slight stress on the word “most.”

“Tell me, did you get a message to the outside? Or were you able to make contact with anyone that could pass along the message?”

“I’m not sure if my friend was able to, but I did,” I said grimly. I filled him in on my encounter with Arnik that day.

Ty’s gravelly voice was tight with excitement by the end. “Ryn, do you know what this means? We might finally get out of here.”

Times like these made me realize I had nothing to complain about. Ty had been down here for drak knows how long.

“Someone’s coming,” Ty whispered.

I listened for several moments, but all I heard was the silence of our dungeon. “I don’t hear anyone.”

Ty didn’t reply, but I trusted his judgment. My inclination was to sneak to my mattress and lie down. But I was done being a coward. I took a deep breath. Things were either going to be really good or really bad.

I so wanted it to be Tyr.

A hooded figure loomed at the door, and he rattled the key in the lock. My insides clenched in anticipation, and I cursed the dim light. But when he stepped through the doorway, I recognized his broad shoulders, his sculpted lips, and his clean-shaven jawline. His lips parted, as if he would speak, and he reached a tentative hand toward me.

“Tyr,” I mouthed. With a small sob, I threw myself into his arms, burying my face in the folds of his cloak on his chest.

He locked me in a tight embrace, pressing his lips to my forehead, and then loosened his grip enough to stroke my hair. After two months, it was nearly down to my chin. Silver strands now that Mum wasn’t here to dye it.

His long fingers brushed my cheek. I have missed you.

My chest filled. “I’ve missed you, too. You couldn’t get up to my room?”

A frown appeared, and he shook his head. Still touching my cheek, he spoke in my mind, I would never be able to see you up there in the light.

Initially, I’d thought Tyr was Jotun’s cleaning lackey. Then I thought him a guard doing what he could against the king. I’d even wondered if he was part of the rebellion at one point. After that, I found out Irrik sent him to keep my Phaetyn powers secret. But I’d never really thought about how Tyr got in here with all the food and drink, or how he disappeared after with buckets of bloodied rags.

I tipped my head back to see into his hood. Black veiled his eyes like always. I inched my fingers up to the shadow, but though I could trace his face underneath, I could not see through the darkness. This had to be Drae magic. Ty had said that Druman tended to be violent beasts. Was Tyr the exception?

Was he Irrik’s son?

Tyr picked up my hand and rubbed gentle circles on the inside of my wrist. I tried not to show my reaction to his touch though heat flooded my cheeks.

I was able to get a message to Cal through your old friend, Dyter.

The floor fell away. Dyter was alive. He’d gone to Cal. “Y-you did?”

I couldn’t sit still, and I jumped up and strode to the door and back. Fevered hope filled me. I tasted freedom on my tongue. I reached for Tyr, holding his hand in both of mine. “Do you know what this means?”

The corner of his mouth pulled up in my favorite wry smile. He shrugged, and I eyed him in outrage before realizing he was teasing. He caught my hand before I could hit him on the shoulder. It means the rebels plan to ambush you in the fields soon. Very soon. It is set in motion.

I’d expected several more weeks spent in the fields, waiting for Arnik to get the message to Cal. But Tyr made it happen. “Like, days?”

Tyr nodded solemnly.

My breath caught. “I can’t leave Ty here.” Ty, who was probably listening to every word, was my friend. I stared up into the darkness, wishing I could see Tyr’s face. “Can you promise to get him out when the king’s army goes out to fight the rebels?”

Tyr didn’t move.

I whispered, “You’ll be coming too, right?” When he didn’t answer right away, I squeezed my eyes shut, fearful of the answer I would see in the set of his jaw, or the frown on his lips.

He sighed. I will do everything in my power to make it so.

I rested my forehead against his chest. “Why is it that you’re saying the right words but I don’t believe you?”

Arnik— Tyr ripped his hand away, but not before I caught the word in his thoughts.

My eyes narrowed. “What about Arnik?”

He avoided my gaze, extracting food and nectar from his cloak. A curious thought occurred to me. “Tyr? Are you jealous of Arnik?” I’d never openly acknowledged the growing depth of feeling between us before, and I held my breath as the question slipped from my lips.

His shoulders stiffened, and humor lit within me alongside a tight bundle of nerves in my stomach because Tyr felt jealous over me. I held back my wide smile, saying, “Arnik is a childhood friend.”

He set the flagon of nectar down and spun in a blur. He cupped my face with his strong hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks.

My heart thumped in my chest as I stared up at Tyr. I traced my fingers over his lips, and he caught my finger between his teeth. Desire burned low in my belly.

I have wanted to kiss you . . . for so long.

Triumph at his words made me smile, and I stepped closer. “I want you to kiss me, too,” I whispered, rising onto my tiptoes. “I’ve wanted it—”

There was a flash of his white teeth before he crushed his lips to mine. His fingers threaded into my hair, and his other hand dropped to my waist to pull me tight against him.

I gripped his arms, drowning in him. His kiss turned tender, small brushes of his lips against mine, and then across my jaw line and down my neck. I tilted my head back, and I worked my hands up toward his hood. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, and pull his head down to me. I wanted to wrap myself around him, and feel his heart beat. I wanted to be as close to Tyr as possible for as long as I could, for as long as he’d let me.

I whispered his name, and he pressed his lips to mine. The tender kisses turned desperate, my heart pounding with increased fervor. He nipped my lower lip, and I moaned.

Ryn.

I wasn’t a fool. He’d given me no promise he’d join me. If the rebels saved me, I may never see him again. A pounding pressure seized my heart, and I broke off the savage kiss, panting.

My passion fled as reality of what would happen when I left doused me. Looking down at where my hands dug into his forearms, I clung to hope.

“Tyr, I can’t leave without you.” I choked and stumbled over the words, and my body started shaking. “I’m not leaving without you,” I said in a stronger voice. “I’ll wait until you can get out.”

He shook his head, and the silence stretched.

My hope waned, and then I saw a droplet appear beneath the shadow of his hood.

I lifted a finger to catch it and then leaned up on tiptoes to kiss where the tear had been. His skin was warm under my lips. I would not abandon him. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Loud, running footsteps echoed down the hall. We’d missed them in our fear-filled embrace. Tyr lifted his head and then thrust me back, spinning on the spot . . .

. . . and disappeared into thin air.

I gaped at the spot he’d been. I’d already suspected he was Druman, but now I knew for sure. I should feel betrayed, but if Tyr was a Druman, I could understand why he hadn’t told me.

The door was thrown open behind me, and I whirled as a panting Jotun stalked into the room. His eyes were bright and his face lit with eager anticipation. He smiled, a cruel jeer, showing yellow-white in the shadows.

I shoved aside the most recent groundbreaking revelation and told myself to focus on the man here to bring me pain.

Days, Tyr said the rebels would be here in days. I couldn’t screw this up. I couldn’t give anything away. In only a few days, they’d come get me in the fields. But . . . I did have something over Jotun. I straightened and said, “You can’t harm me. The king has ordered it.”

Jotun stopped in his tracks.

I celebrated my victory but didn’t press him further. Oh, but I wanted to. Jotun, remember that time the king hit you and you whimpered like an animal? Remember the other day when Lord Irrik, the guy you hate who also happens to be your dad, gave you the biggest butt-whipping of all time? “Jotun, your face is like a masticated, spat out piece of grisly meat.”

I smiled at my witty inner dialogue, shrieking in surprised fright a second later when Jotun roared and charged at me.

I glanced down, picked up the chamber pot, and swung with all my might.

No one was more surprised than I when it connected with his head. Jotun’s eyes widened then rolled back in his head, and he hit the ground like a sack of rotten spuds. I stared at the chamber pot in shock and then at Jotun. His finger twitched, I swear, and I screeched a second time, bringing the pot down on his head again.

“Having fun?” Lord Irrik drawled, leaning against the bars.

I jumped and moved away from Jotun, but the Drae just snorted, eyeing the chamber pot in my hands.

Fire licked up my arms, followed by an intense prickly sensation. I dropped the pot and scratched at my suddenly itchy forearms. My fingertips encountered a row of smooth rolling bumps. What the hay?

“Clearly I can’t trust Jotun to keep his hands to himself,” Irrik mused. He waved me forward. “Come with me. I’ll return you to our room.”

“Your room, and what about the lesson you were teaching me?” Shut up, Ryn!

He arched a brow, face cooling. “Would you rather stay?”

“Lesson learned,” I blurted. I hurried out of the cell, skin tingling as I brushed past the Drae.

Irrik strode into the cell and searched Jotun, detaching the keys from his belt. Then the Drae joined me in the hall, shut the cell door, leaving Jotun immobile on the floor, and chucked the keys down to the far end of the hall.

I had to say, I almost liked the Drae.

I tried to peer into Ty’s cell as we passed, but Irrik placed me on his other side and hustled us down the hall. My arms itched again, and I traced the bumps in the darkness, wondering what they could be.

My heart rate began to slow, and I let out a short laugh. I had just beat up Jotun! I was going to be in a world of pain if he ever got a hold of me alone again, but drak had it been worth it to see his twin moons go out like a dampened fire. It made me see how far I had come since my first introduction to the dungeon. Perhaps the bargaining chip I now had gave me power, but I no longer felt like the shredded girl who would only do what was necessary. I didn’t feel like I would crawl anymore. At least around Jotun. I couldn’t speak for the cold terror the king still instilled in me.

We passed out of the prison, and I held up my forearms to the flickering flame of a torch set on the wall. Smooth, sun-bronzed skin met my eye. I stopped walking and frowned, running my hands over the previously bumpy skin, but my fingers confirmed what my eyes told me. Odd, I could’ve sworn . . .

“What are you doing, Phaetyn?” Lord Irrik growled.

The day was long over, and I gathered the Drae was not pleased at having to attend me this late. His fault for taking me into Jotun territory. “I thought there were bumps on my arms earlier,” I mumbled. “Never mind.”

He reached me in two steps and turned over my hands.

My heart pounded, and his eyes widened as he ran his finger down my inner arm. I shivered as tingles erupted underneath his touch.

He looked me in the eye. “When is your birthday, Phaetyn?” he demanded.

Avoiding his inky gaze, I tried to free my arms. They were itchy again.

He repeated himself, and I sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what month it is.”

His eyes shifted reptilian again and black scales dusted across the bridge of his nose. “Lunar twelve, day nine.”

That meant nearly three months had passed since my capture. “In a little over a week.”

I brightened, I loved birthdays. Though as I glanced around, my insides twisted. This year might not live up to past years.

Irrik let go and grumbled under his breath in his freaky Drae language.

I brought my arms up. Smooth skin. I shook my head and started after the moody Drae. I guessed his broodiness was my fault. Again. This man had serious anger problems. Still, I only had to deal with him for another handful of days. My stomach churned at the thought, and I wasn’t sure what to make of the tumult I felt. Over the months, I’d discovered Lord Irrik was not at all what he seemed. Though what he was I still had no idea.

It’s why I couldn’t like him. He was still playing a game with the king.

Putting one foot in front of the other, I steadied myself for the days ahead. I hoped Cal and Dyter had something great planned to outwit the king’s Drae because it was going to take a lot more to win than sneaking up to talk to me in a vineyard.

Hope quivered within like an arrow waiting to be loosed from the bow. But if the rebels’ plan worked . . .

Maybe I’d have a dungeon-free birthday after all.